


Savor

by MistressofHappyEndings



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Boys being soft and in love, Established Relationship, Heroes Being Thanked Properly For Once, M/M, Making a Home - Or a Den - For Your Mates, Rimming, Semi-Retirement Years at Corvo Bianco, Think That Covers It ...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressofHappyEndings/pseuds/MistressofHappyEndings
Summary: Villages are saved, dens are made, lovin' happens
Relationships: Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Dettlaff van der Eretein/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 51





	Savor

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This turned out to be really sappy and sweet, but I hope you like it anyway. I have read stories where Regis makes a "nest" for Geralt and/or Dettlaff, and I'm not sure if that's the proper term for it. If it is, well, I changed the name a bit, but it's serves the same purpose. Also, I think I've taken some liberties with how high vampires transform into their non-human forms. I did my best. This is from Dettlaff's POV, after he's had a chance to really settle down with Geralt and Regis and learn how to love and be loved properly. Again, enjoy!

************* 

“Hands.  
Cheeks.  
Eyes.  
Lips.  
Neck.  
Ears.  
Thighs.  
Heart.  
Soul. 

Ahh!  
the things I get to  
savor you with.” 

― Sanober Khan 

************ 

Roach whickers softly at something Geralt whispers to her, drawing my attention not to the feisty mare, but to her beautiful rider, my beautiful mate. Geralt, in my decidedly biased opinion, is always beautiful, but with the yesterday’s events behind us and the afternoon sun gilding his pale hair in reds and golds, he is even more so. I let my eyes linger on him and welcome the surge of feeling, something soft yet possessive, that comes with such a lovely sight. Because he is _my_ mate, he is _mine_ , and he is _beautiful_. 

An upturning of his lips tells me that he has caught me in my blatant appreciation of him, but I don’t care. He is deserving of all appreciation, and blatant is sometimes the only way to get his oblivious self to notice. I know he still has a hard time, given the life he has led and the people in it who have let him down so many times and in so many harsh ways, understanding why I care so much. I don’t let this deter me, either. Letting oneself be appreciated and loved for who you are isn’t an easy lesson to learn. I would know. Life has crushed doubt and insecurity into the crevices of my broken soul, too, and I once never thought I could love anyone like this again or let myself be loved in turn. 

It is just as well we have each other, and our beloved third mate, to provide constant, gentle reminders that we have all survived the worst of our pasts, and now have each other to love and be loved by. 

Lost in my contemplation, I didn’t realize that Geralt has slid off Roach’s back and is leading her off the path and deeper into the surrounding woods. Reining my own horse to a halt, I twist a bit in the saddle and call out, “Geralt?” 

“Yes, love?” His reply floats from behind the screening trees, easy and full of poorly concealed mischief. “I’m over here.” 

Ah, it’s to be like that, is it? A smile stretches across my lips as I slide to the ground and gather up Balor’s reins to chase after him. He can be quite playful when the mood strikes him, my beautiful Witcher, and I do love to play. I enter the woods behind him and follow in quiet anticipation until the trees give way to a small clearing, lush with sweet-smelling grass and wildflowers growing along the banks of a narrow, merrily bubbling creek. 

Roach has her nose in the water, drinking her fill as though it’s been much longer than the few hours since we left the village of Jaroslaw. That horse has a dramatic streak to go with her stubborn, loyal nature. I shake my head at her antics and release Balor to join her at the water’s edge. Knowing they can keep themselves out of trouble, I turn my attention fully to my wayward Witcher. 

He’s standing under the shade of an enormous oak tree, watching me in turn with those bright, golden eyes of his. Although he’d only been a few minutes ahead of me, he’s already managed to shed most of his armor into a haphazard pile at his feet, the twin swords propped carefully within reach against the trunk of the tree, Roach’s blanket spread out haphazardly on the ground by them. Down to only his shirt and breeches, he holds my gaze as he manages to rid himself of his boots as well, tossing them aside and pressing his toes into the soft grass with a little wriggle of pleasure. I reach him just as he raises his hands to start on the laces on his shirt. 

I still his movements with a one hand over both of his, the other reaching to mold around his bearded cheek. I hold him thus for a long moment, the silence a comfortable thing between us, leaning just a little bit further in to press our foreheads together. Geralt makes a small sound and twists one hand to clasp mine over his heart, the other rising to tilt my head to his liking, and he closes the last little distance between us. 

It’s not a kiss, not really – just the barest brush of lips against lips and a single, shared breath. One not-kiss melts into another, and then another, and then several more after that. We trade them back and forth for a time, a game of long standing between us, seeing how long it takes until one of us couldn’t stand it any longer and deepens the kiss. It’s always a toss-up who will win, especially when we both know that there can be no real loser in this sweetest of games. This time, Geralt leans into it first, though it is a very near thing, and lets his arms slip around my waist, pulling me closer. My lips parted easily as I step into Geralt’s embrace, tongues tangling in soft, slow kisses. 

My hand eventually find its way from Geralt’s jaw to his hair, combing through it, enjoying the feel of the soft strands shifting against my sensitive fingers and the patagium between them. I’ve always loved doing this, loved having the freedom to do this, loved even more how much _Geralt_ loves me doing it. My Witcher moans happily into my mouth and slides one hand up to cup the back of my neck, his blunt nails digging lightly into the flesh there. It is my turn to moan at the gentle scrape. I feel his smile against my lips just before he pulls back slightly. 

“Love?” 

“Hmm, yes, Geralt?” 

“If we continue, we’re going to be late getting home.” 

“Yes?” 

“Maybe we should let Regis know, hmm? I don’t want him to worry about us.” 

Regis, our other mate, beloved and loving, no, I don’t want him to worry. He’s done enough worrying about both of us in the past, all of it unfortunately justified, and neither of us want to be the cause of his upset if we can avoid it. I groan and drop my head to Geralt’s shoulder. 

Regis hadn’t come with us because he’d wanted to finish a special surprise for Geralt. I have been helping him with it as surreptitiously as I was able for the past few months, and so have Barnabas-Basil and Marlene, even Dandelion and Ciri when they visit, but I’m not sure how subtle we’ve all actually been. Geralt can be pretty oblivious to many things, but I would think that two vampires turning his villa into a proper den would have been difficult even for him to miss. But he hasn’t said anything about it, so we continue on in small but significant increments. 

To be honest, neither Regis nor I have ever attempted a den, and likely our efforts aren’t something another of our kind would approve of, but then, neither is our choice of mate. We don’t care, neither of us have ever held the opinion of other vampires in high esteem, and when Geralt and each other are the prize for that neglect, well, it’s well worth it. 

If not for the call for help two nights past, it would have taken even longer to complete, but with Geralt out of the house all day yesterday and most of the day today, the last of the important touches could be set into place. The rest would just be details. 

What neither of us know, however, is how Geralt will react. Will he be pleased, will he not be pleased, will he even notice? By his own admission, he didn’t know much higher vampire lore, though both of us have been filling those gaps in his knowledge daily, so there is a good chance that he won’t have any idea of how significant building a den for our small pack actually is. I hope I’m wrong. Geralt and Regis both deserve a place – a _home_ – that is warm and comfortable and, above all, _safe_. Corvo Bianco has already been those things for years now, but a den is just … _more_. I want them both to have that. As pack leader, I really should be the one orchestrating it all, but Regis is enjoying it too much for me to take that from him. 

So, no matter how much I wish to continue this, it really wouldn’t be fair to Regis after all of that hard work and planning. Letting my fangs drag lightly over the exposed skin under my mouth, I enjoy the slight shiver it elicits even as I reluctantly start to lean back. 

“You’re right,” I whisper against his lips. “We really should get home. It’s been such a good trip, it would be a shame to end it by upsetting Regis.” 

And it has truly been a good outing. I wonder if Geralt has ever had a contract go quite so positively as this one has. Outside of Geralt’s few human friends, I certainly haven’t experienced so much acceptance by … anyone, actually, but especially not an entire village of humans. 

A young man named Milo had ridden hard to arrive two nights ago at the vineyard to plead for the Witcher’s help. In between sips of wine that Marlene had set down to steady him, he told the tale of a flock of wyverns had descended on his village of Jaroslaw, flying off with livestock and menacing the townsfolk. There had already been several injuries, and one of the children had nearly been carried off. Could the White Wolf please come and help them? 

In response, Geralt had pulled on his armor and reached for his swords. He wasn’t going to wait for daylight, didn’t need to with his senses. I didn’t, either, and I had stood to join him. Marlene had appeared at his elbow with a bundle that turned out to be breakfast, as she would not hear of him going into a fight on an empty stomach. She had handed one to me as well, and I had given her a smile for her thoughtfulness and for her assumption that I would be going with him. Geralt had given us both an inscrutable look, but he hadn’t objected when I had fallen into step beside him. I was thankful for the lack of an argument. Geralt is still devastatingly good at what he does, but he is also not getting any younger, and Regis and I are very much aware of how certain past injuries pain him still. There was no way he was going alone when we were there to provide the kind of back-up he’d rarely had the fortune to have in the past. 

Regis had been torn between wanting to go with us and wanting to finish the den. The conflict had been plain on his face and, had Geralt not been so focused on the young villager’s story, he no doubt would have had some questions. Fortunately for Regis, he hadn’t seen, and I had reassured him through our bond that I would protect our more vulnerable mate to the utmost of my ability – and we had all experienced how encompassing and final that kind of protection could be. Reassurance gained, Regis had vanished mid-tale to the stables and had both Roach and Balor ready to go when we stepped outside. 

There was a moment as we prepared to leave where I thought Geralt might question why Regis was staying behind. It wasn’t so unheard of, as Regis not as much of a fighter without intense provocation, and so didn’t go out as often with us when Geralt’s skills were called upon. But our Witcher didn’t say a word about it, just gave our mate a good-bye kiss and swung up into his saddle. I did the same, and then we were off. 

Though we maintained a swift pace, the mid-morning sun shone down upon us as we neared the village. As we closed the distance, the peace of the morning was shattered by the cacophonous shrieking of the wyverns’ attack and their human victims’ terrified cries reached us. With a bare glance between us, Geralt had leaned closer to Roach’s neck and spurred her to greater speeds, recklessly tearing down the dirt track leading into the village. I was only a moment behind him, Balor keeping right on Roach’s heels. 

Pure pandemonium greeted us when we finally thundered into the village. At least six unusually large wyvern swooped and dove amongst the rows of houses, claws and teeth reaching for prey, uncaring if the targets were animal or human. We immediately set to work, moving together as if we had done so all of our lives, and drew the beasts’ attention to ourselves with twin cries of challenge. The wyvern flock accepted the challenge and attacked us _en masse_. 

The fight took far longer than I had imagined it would. These wyvern were more cunning than any I had encountered before, swifter and more daring, too, and it was a struggle to dodge the strikes by tail and teeth and venom without revealing my vampiric side. It didn’t help that the villagers were so panicked that some didn’t seek shelter when given the chance, forcing Geralt and I to duck and dodge around them, trying to shove them in the direction of safety. Still, we were steadily winning against the wyvern, three of them dead in the streets and two more on their way to joining them. I was hopeful that this would end without any villagers losing their lives. 

No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than a high-pitched cry of a child in distress caught my attention. Geralt’s angry shout came from the same direction. I whipped around in time to see a little girl, one arm and the back of her dress caught in the largest of the wyvern’s claws, being lifted from her hiding spot behind an overturned wagon. Geralt was running towards them with Witcher speed, but he still wouldn’t reach them before the beast made off with his squirming, squealing meal. 

I didn’t think about the consequences of my actions. I just launched myself into the air, transforming into my bat form as I went. I caught the wyvern by surprise as I barreled into it from below, but it refused to relinquish its prey even then. It snaked its head towards me, teeth snapping at my face, spitting venom, the girl screaming as it tightened its claws around her arm. Or maybe it was me that was making her scream, for the sight of me in this form would hardly bring her comfort. I wasn’t going to prolong her ordeal, and with one deft swipe of my claws, I beheaded the wyvern and dove to catch the child before she hit the ground. 

I made sure to change back to my human form once I was safely back on land, so as not to frighten the tiny thing any more than she’d already been. I set her down onto her own feet and knelt down in front of her to check for injuries as Regis had taught me to do. She stared up at me with wide brown eyes, her lips trembling and tears running down her dirty cheeks, blood from the puncture wounds in her shoulder dripping from her tattered sleeve. For a moment, I thought she was going to start screaming again, and I could hardly blame her if she did. 

She did, indeed, give a cry, but instead of running from me, she threw her arms around my neck and held on for all she was worth. I admit that I froze for a moment. Comforting distraught humans wasn’t something I had any experience in, and I really didn’t want to hurt her further. Humans are so fragile, especially ones this small, and it’s hard to gauge my strength around them. I settled for wrapping my arms around her gingerly and lifting her up to go and search for her parents. She snuffled and buried her face in my neck, her grip not easing up at all. 

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to reunite her with her family. Her mother rushed towards me, her daughter’s name on her lips, and reached for her with trembling hands. The little one finally released her grip on me and fell into her mother’s arms, the father coming up behind the pair of them and engulfing them both in a protective embrace. There’s a lot of crying, but it seemed to be the happy kind, so I turned to leave them to it. 

And found myself in a loose, growing circle of villagers. I stilled and eyed the crowd warily, waiting to see what they’re going to do. There wasn’t much they could do to harm me; but I didn’t know where Geralt was, and if this was going to turn ugly, I needed to make sure that he was safe. I had promised Regis. 

But instead of the violence I half expected, when the crowd closed in, I found my hand being shaken and thumps of gratitude against my back and shoulder. The mother of the child pressed kisses against my cheek in tearful thanks. It was overwhelming and uncomfortable, and I didn't know what the correct response to all this should be. Regis was the tactile one, even Geralt was more appreciative of touch from strangers than me, conditioned by years of Dandelion’s friendship and Ciri’s affection. I felt my hands close into fists against my will. 

I was close to bolting when the comforting scent of sandalwood, smoke and leather reached me. A gauntleted hand covered mine and squeezed briefly. Most of the tension drained from me as Geralt stepped up to my side, skillfully using his large, armored body as a buffer against all that exuberant humanity. As he spoke to the villagers, I took the opportunity to look him over for any injuries. There were a few, but nothing too serious, the blood on his armor more beast than Witcher. A quiet sigh escaped me at this realization, and I felt my muscles relax as much as they were going to in the aftermath of a fight. 

Once the initial outpouring of thanks has slowed a bit, I thought we would immediately head back to Corvo Bianco, but we were surprised with an offer to stay and refresh ourselves first. A genuine offer, too, not one grudgingly made. We shared a look, an entire conversation in a glance, and Geralt accepted for us both. 

What followed was the kind of boisterous affair that only near-death experiences can create. In a truly admirable amount of time, the debris from the wyvern attack was cleared away and tables were set up in the town square. The women filled the tables with all manner of baked goods and vegetable dishes while the men took turns turning the two hogs they’ve slaughtered over twin spits. 

We were not allowed to assist with any of the preparations. Instead, we were shepherded to the inn and a hot bath was drawn to let us clear away the signs of battle. Our clothes had been whisked away while we bathed and returned to us cleaned and mended. Both of us had stared at the returned clothing then each other with bemused expressions on our faces before we got redressed and headed down the stairs to join the festivities. Geralt leaves his armor and swords with the innkeeper to retrieve later. 

The alderman had met us at the door and led us to the head table sitting on a raised platform where two ornate chairs had been placed in our honor. Once we were seated, we were plied with good food and better wine, our plates and goblets never empty. The conversation and laughter flowed freely around us, the villagers sitting on either side of us leaning in close to include us in the chatter, and though such closeness still made me a bit uneasy, it was worth it to see Geralt being able to enjoy the easy camaraderie these humans wanted to share with us. 

In the middle of the meal, the little girl I had rescued, now scrubbed clean, wound bandaged, and wearing a pretty green dress, had slipped up onto the dais and in between Geralt and me. With a shy tug on my hand, she had waited for my attention before she’d raised her arms up to me. My eyes had flown up to Geralt for assistance, but his attention was elsewhere at that moment, and the child’s parents were nowhere in sight. My gaze had fallen back to the little human in front of me. She was now staring up at me with wide, sad eyes, and trembling bottom lip, but just as she was about to lower her arms, I had pushed back my chair and gingerly scooped her up onto my lap. A wide smile had replaced the sad look, and she’d happily squirmed into a comfortable position and settled in for what would be the rest of the evening. 

While I’d finished eating, the little one, who’d quickly introduced herself as Yetta, had chattered merrily away at me, asking so many questions it was hard to keep up with her. Geralt had watched us with a soft look of amusement before he’d been coerced into a wrestling match with three older boys. He’d playfully tussled with them under the indulgent eyes of their parents, and I began to idly wonder if my mate would enjoy being a father again. He’d done the best he could with Ciri even on the Path full time, and she had grown into a fine woman. With Corvo Bianco as a permanent den, and two mates to assist him, maybe he would like to try again. Looking down at Yetta asleep in my arms, I had resolved to bring up the matter with Geralt and Regis once we got back home. 

It was late by the time the festivities had wound down, and rather than head back home in the dark, we were offered a room at the inn for the night. Using our bond with Regis, we had let him know our whereabouts, and accepted the offer. The next morning, we were plied with more than enough food to see us home and a standing invitation to come back any time. We’d promised that we would. We’d bring Regis with us next time. He’d definitely enjoy this village’s hospitality and good humor. 

Which brought us to where we were now. Moving away from my Witcher was the last thing I wanted to do, but I wanted to upset Regis even less. However, I could feel an anxious kind of excitement coming from our eldest mates, a subtle hum in the back of my mind even through the haze of desire for the man in front of me. Regis was almost, but not quite, done with the den, and he was working himself into a frenzy trying to get it done before we get home. I now have a conundrum on my hands – how do I convince Geralt to linger a bit to give Regis more time without giving away the surprise? 

Before I can formulate a plan, Geralt chuckles. His arms tighten around me, and he takes a step forward to keep us pressed closed together. I could have easily broken his hold, but surprise and curiosity held me still. 

“Geralt, what –?” 

“I didn’t say we should stop. I just said that we should let Regis know that we will be a little later than planned.” 

I frown in confusion. “But you – ” 

He shushes me with his fingers over my lips. “Dettlaff, I know.” 

“You know … what exactly?” I answer cautiously. 

Geralt smiles, a soft, sweet tilt of his lips that only Regis and I are privileged enough to see. I love that smile almost as much as I love the man that wears it. I raise a hand to trace my fingers across that gentle curve, forgetting my own question for a moment, until Geralt catches my hand in his and gives it a gentle squeeze. 

“I know what Regis and you have been up to. I know about the den. That’s what it’s called, right?” 

“Yes, it is. How did you know?” 

Geralt chuckles again, a bit ruefully this time, and rubs a thumb across his brow. “I might not be the most observant person when it comes to a lot of the emotional side of things, but even I can’t miss it when the two people I love most are doing their damnedest to turn a house into a home. _Our_ home.” 

“Is that … good?” 

“No.” Before I can panic at this, he swiftly continues. “It’s so far beyond good, I don’t have the words to describe it. I don’t think _Dandelion_ has the words to describe how a den, how you and Regis wanting to give me something like _that_ , putting all that time and effort into it, makes me feel. No one has ever done something like that for me, Dettlaff, and I never thought I’d get a chance for a life like this one. There’s a part of me that still doubts that all of this is real.” 

I rush to reassure him. “It’s real, beloved, it’s real.” 

“I know,” Geralt returns quietly, “I _know_. And I have the two of you to thank for it. But like you, I can tell that Regis isn’t done yet. I don’t want to spoil his surprise, so I thought we might give him a bit more time to get it all ready. And I thought that maybe I could show you my appreciation now, and we can both appreciate Regis later. Sound good?” 

I feel a slow, predatory smile spread across my face. “I think you make very good plans.” 

Geralt throws his head back and laughs. The laugh swiftly turns into a choked moan when I take the opportunity presented to me and sink my fangs gently around his Adam’s apple, my tongue laving over the bump as he swallows. One of his hands jumps to the back of my head to keep me in place while the other tightens around my hip to draw me nearer. I’m careful not to break the skin, but the fleeting bruise I leave behind satisfies something primal and I deliver one last lick across the darkening flesh before I carefully disengage his hold on me. 

Taking both his hands in mine, I murmur, “One moment, love,” then turn my attention inward to the bond I share with Regis. Once I have reassured our eldest mate of our delay and receive a swell of gratitude and a bit of regret that he is here with us, I refocus back on Geralt. 

I ask simply, “How do you want me, my love? Tell me, and I will make it happen.” 

Instead of telling me, Geralt, as is his way, opts to show me instead. He tugs and pulls at our remaining clothing until we are both bared to the sunlight then leads me to the blanket he’s laid out. Stretching out on his back, making quite of a show of that perfect, flawed body as he finds a comfortable position, he reaches a hand out to me. I take it and let him move me until I was straddling his stomach. He uses his hands on my hips to tug me further towards him. 

I smile down at Geralt and shuffle forward on my knees until I’m kneeling over Geralt’s face. I know what my Witcher wants. He wants to taste me, wants to open me up with his lips and tongue, wants to enjoy the feeling of my body surrendering to his ministrations. I suddenly want that more than anything, too. I brace one hand against the tree and use the other to brush aside wisps of his white hair so I have a perfect view of his desire dark eyes as his strong hands shift me into the perfection position for what he’s about to do. The hands move further down, parts the flesh before him, and the gentle assault begins. 

It’s every bit as perfect as all the other times Geralt has done this to me, every part of him rubbing against some part of me. His nose, his chin, his beard, even his eyebrows. I can feel them all, pressed against my skin, moving slowly, as he licks into me, sucks on me, massages me with his lips and tongue. I let a quiet moan pass through my lips and my eyes shine down at him with the pleasure being given me. I want my mate to know just how affected I am by his actions. The large hands around my thighs tighten in a grip that would bruise anyone else’s skin, and he pulls at me to move closer. I go willingly, body close enough to nearly smother, but Witchers have excellent lung capacity, so I don’t worry about my mate’s breathing. I trust Geralt to know his own limits. 

After long moments of this thorough invasion, Geralt’s long, callused fingers are introduced alongside his clever, wicked tongue. Geralt’s muffled moans mix with my own as my body acquiesces to my beloved’s attentions with languid ease. Geralt continues at his sedate pace until I’m slick and achingly open. He’s careful to avoid the sensitive place inside me, but everything he does feels so very, very good. I’m panting with unneeded breath by the time he withdraws his hands. He wraps them instead around my waist and lightly pushes me back to sit on his chest instead. I smile at him, and Geralt returns it crookedly. I just have to kiss that smile and lean down to do it. 

Geralt pulls me down even closer until I am resting on my elbows over his shoulders, and we are chest to chest. Geralt spears his fingers into my hair and trails the tip of his nose from my temple down my jawline, nuzzles into the space behind my ear, then turns his head slightly to capture my mouth in a slow, lush series of kisses. We trade control of the kisses between us for a long span of minutes, hands wandering slowly over bare, warm skin, lingering over favorite spots. Eventually, Geralt’s hands curve over my ass, petting over the hard muscles, before he dips his fingers back between them. 

Geralt gently prepares me for what is to come, though in all honesty, I don’t need that much preparation, especially not after the play from earlier. I do enjoy it when Geralt or Regis take their time doing it anyway, and I close my eyes to better experience all the exquisite sensations his touch causes. Preparation turns to the sweetest torture as Geralt rests his fingers in the slick depths of my body. Unlike earlier, he immediately finds that one place that sends sparks up my spine and begins tapping his fingers against it. Each tap radiates blinding pleasure throughout my body. I writhe atop him and gasp out praises for his actions. 

I remain pressed close to Geralt as I squirm, mouthing over whatever bit of his flushed skin I could reach, until he deems me sufficiently ready. I eagerly follow his silent directions, shifting only my hips as I slide down his sweat-slick skin and lower myself onto Geralt’s prick. I move in small, gradual increments so as to better feel every inch of the welcome invasion. We both groan when Geralt is finally, fully sheathed. 

We remain still for long, long moments as we each savor the connection between us, our mate bond humming with pleasure and contentment. I am the first stir, mouthing and nibbling a tendon in Geralt’s neck then trailing further down my Witcher’s breastbone and abdomen as I straighten my spine into seated position over Geralt’s thighs, propping my hands on his chest. He smiles up at me, tracing the smooth edge of my jaw with tender fingertips. I turn my head to suck one into my mouth, nibbling on it and laving it wetly, enjoying the way Geralt’s eyes grow darker before I release it and begin to move. 

I rock my hips in a lazy swivel, keeping Geralt firmly lodged inside me, not able to tolerate even the smallest retreat now that I have him deep. I keep to that rhythm, ignoring my own aching need, just to watch how Geralt’s eyes darken further with each twist of my body, how a becoming sheen of sweat breaks out across his pale skin, how the pulse in his throat begins to beat faster, then faster still. Without any conscious thought, my tongue swipes across my lips as I feel the hunger I normally have little trouble keeping in check begin to grow. 

Geralt growls, a sound of pure possessive need, and abruptly sits up to chase my tongue, swiftly ensnaring it with his own. We both reach for each other, one of Geralt’s arms going around my lower back while both my arms go around Geralt’s shoulders. I wrap my legs around his waist and use all four limbs to pull him impossibly closer. 

Geralt uses the arm around my back to keep our slow, grinding rhythm going. His free hand curls around my cock, his fingers moving over the slick shaft and thumb rubbing over the tip. I look down at him from my higher advantage in his lap, so close now that we’re breathing the same air. I brush my knuckles over my mate’s kiss-swollen lips then gasp when a particular wicked twist of his hips hits that sweetest of spots inside me. I bury my face in his neck and chase that feeling with a faster pace of my own. 

When I feel that I’m close, I finally give into instinct the way I never can when Regis is with us, bow my head, and sink my fangs into the thick meat of Geralt’s shoulder. Rich, warm blood immediately fills my mouth, coating my tongue, and I greedily drink, one deep swallow, two. A low growl reverberates in my ear, then I feel Geralt’s smaller Witcher fangs bite deep into my chest. Blood dribbles past his lips and down over my nipple, and Geralt rasps a rough tongue over the coated nub with a vampire’s enthusiasm. The second swipe of his tongue over my nipple is all it takes to send me over the edge into blissful oblivion. 

I come back to myself to find Geralt still deep inside my body, unfulfilled. I blink my eyes open, languorous and slow, hazy with the pleasure still juddering along my nerves. My mouth curves when I find Geralt staring a mere inch away and waiting for me. 

“Fill me up,” I demand softly, scraping my fingertips across his bristly cheek. “Let me feel it.” 

Geralt groans and obeys. It doesn’t take long at all, as I run my hands up and down his back and shoulders, murmuring filthy encouragement. Geralt grinds his forehead against my collarbone as he shakes with the force of his orgasm, heat bursting deep inside me as his spine goes liquid. 

I hold him when he collapses back against the rumpled blanket. I can hear my Witcher’s heart beating thunderously in his chest as he regains his breath, and I roll my head enough to kiss over the bitemark I’d left earlier. Geralt shudders at the touch. A few moments pass, then Geralt’s arms come up heavily around my back, and I feel his lips against the top of my head. 

We stay like that for a while, enjoying the closeness of each other’s bodies and the gentle breeze against our skin. Geralt’s heartbeat slows down to its normal, even tempo, and his hands move over my back in slow strokes. 

“Do you think we’ve given Regis enough time?” I ask in a low, rough tone. 

“Hmm,” he replies lazily, his cock flexing back to full hardness inside me, “I think we should give him another hour at least, don’t you?” 

I smirk and drag my tongue across the hollow between his collarbones before leaning up to capture his mouth in a quick and filthy kiss. “Just an hour?” 

Laughing, Geralt gathers me close and flips us over smoothly. I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist to keep him pressed deep. “Well, let me see what I can do, love.”


End file.
